


Can't Let It Go

by CapsuleCorp



Category: One Piece
Genre: Almost Kiss, Confessions, Gen, Injury, M/M, Post-Thriller Bark, Pre-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4097911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapsuleCorp/pseuds/CapsuleCorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are probably a thousand different takes on what happened after Thriller Bark. Consider this one thousand and one. After Zoro wakes up, he stews on what happened in front of Kuma and demands an explanation from Sanji, and boy does he get it. One small section in the middle is taken straight from the manga (a conversation with Brook), the rest is mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Let It Go

From the moment his eyes slid open to find that he had not, in fact, died of the massive blood loss from multiple wounds, Zoro's mind ached with curiosity. To be fair, he had a lot to wonder about, to think over – how did he survive, what became of Bartholomew Kuma, how many days had it been, how was the rest of the crew, how was Luffy – but those were questions for which he could easily find answers. The one that remained long after he had been reassured that they were all fine, everybody was alive and mostly recovered, it had been three days, they were safe, was the one he was certain not to get answered at all. Ever. Not if he knew the cook – and he liked to think he did.

The party was long over, though the crew known as the Rolling Pirates seemed to be everywhere around the ruined mansion, helping the Straw Hats to plunder it of anything useable and working with Franky to repair and refit the ghost ship to make it seaworthy again. Zoro almost tripped over several of them when he finally tested his legs and wobbled out of the room where he had been kept while unconscious. Fortunately, they weren't a bad sort and stayed out of his way, but it meant he had to ask one of his own crewmates what was going on. Chopper was all too happy to fill him in on everything while he checked over the state of the swordsman's healing injuries and re-wrapped him in a mummy's casing of bandages to protect them. It was, after all, very dirty around the mansion, what with the walls caved in and the plaster coming off in clouds of dust, and the traces of rotting corpses of former zombies still lingering in the smears on the stairs and the stench in the air. If Zoro was to get back to full strength quickly, and bear few if any scars from his ordeal, he needed to be kept sequestered out of the way of the mess and chaos. It chafed him, because he wanted to be right there shoulder-to-shoulder with everyone else, proving that he was no invalid, but at the same time, he really didn't mind that he missed out on the grossest part. Funny, how when he was able-bodied he was content to nap instead of stay busy around the ship with menial work, but when he was injured and banned from working, all he wanted to do was get up and perform the most strenuous of activities. He bit back his complaints and flopped back into bed in silence, staring at the shadows on the ceiling instead while Chopper bustled back out to go and make his rounds of all the minor injuries among both crews.

The quiet only magnified Zoro's thoughts until he wanted to do something, anything, to drown them out. Contrary to popular belief, there was more than just empty space between his ears. The others might not have realized just how much thinking he usually did – it was a direct substitute for his tendency not to ramble with useless words. When his lips were shut, his mind was active. He laid thinking for a long time before anyone else disturbed him, and he was rather surprised at who came to see him next. Most of the others had already piled in to see him earlier in the day, when the news went around that he had woken up, and he had already endured no end of prattling from Luffy and Usopp and more of Nami's scolding, but one person hadn't done more than lurk in the doorway until now. Now, he breezed into the room with a businesslike stride and matching expression, carrying a plate in one hand and a bottle of alcohol in the other. At the moment Zoro was lounging with his arms folded beneath his head, but his eyes were alert and went straight to the cook's figure the instant his silhouette appeared. He noticed that Sanji was not wearing a suit and tie, for once, and wondered. “Here,” Sanji said, his tone just as straightforward as his posture, “I figured you were finally up for this.”

Zoro pushed himself up to a seat. “That's all?”

Sanji sniffed as he set the plate down on a barrel that was positioned near the bedside. “Chopper said to ease you into it a little at a time. When you finish this bottle, there's a whole barrel right here for round two.”

Zoro looked at it; it wasn't his table, it was his allotment of booze. Nice. He had eaten a mild meal earlier, just some soup and bread, but his insane metabolism was already craving meat and more. Sanji seemed to have anticipated that, for the meal piled onto the large plate consisted of sausages, cheese, and a few choice cuts of a pork roast steaming as if it had just come out of the oven moments before. And rice, and maybe a couple of vegetables for color, but it was mostly protein and starch. Zoro's stomach roared angrily just smelling it. It amused Sanji, though he only set the bottle down next to the plate, turning it to show the label. It was some choice whiskey, probably stolen out of Moria's personal stash. The cook had already pulled the cork for him and everything. Zoro looked at it, then at Sanji, and suppressed the burning desire to ask him any of a million questions on his tongue. They could wait, right now he wanted that food. Without even thanking him or caring about etiquette, Zoro pulled himself to the edge of the bed and grabbed the plate, wolfing down a generous portion before pausing for breath and a swig of whiskey. It burned so good going down, and he could feel the life returning to him just like that. Sanji only stepped away and lit the cigarette dangling from his thin lips, smiling privately as if Zoro's enthusiasm was the same as gratitude. He stood guard at the door while Zoro ate, saying absolutely nothing. It was exactly what Zoro wanted, even if it just made the questions in the back of his mind solidify like chunks of lead. If only he could pick them up and hurl them at Sanji like chunks of lead – they might actually find a target that way. He merely sat and ate and drank, going through the entire bottle of booze along with his meal, and then sat in content silence with the empty dishes beside him. When Sanji came to collect them, he glanced up, and was completely certain that the cook was avoiding his direct gaze. Not surprising, all things considered. “You didn't make dinner just for me,” he said, low and heavy in challenge.

“Of course not,” Sanji scoffed. “Chopper said he didn't want you moving around too much, and the noise of the main hall might be too much.”

“I've already been walking around,” Zoro growled, “and too much noise my ass. Luffy could be screaming at the top of his lungs and I wouldn't care.”

“Oi, don't complain at me,” Sanji shot back, eyeing him sidelong, “take it up with the doctor. He's the one who said it was fine to take you dinner in your room.”

Zoro harrumphed and groused under his breath some more, not sure whether to fully believe him. Though, Chopper did prefer it if they took their injuries seriously and had no end of scolding for them when they tried to go about normal duties and activities when they should have been convalescing in bed. “So everybody else is eating together?” he asked, feeling more than a little left out.

“More or less.” Sanji studied him for a moment and then shrugged, taking the used dishes and empty bottle with him. “If you'll excuse me, I have some serving to do. I'll be in the kitchen most of the night again, but at least it's quieter than the dining hall.”

He left as briskly as he had come, leaving that strange comment hanging in the air behind him like the smoke from his cigarette. Zoro sat for a while simply letting everything catch up to him, rolling the cook's words around in his head. At last, when he felt like his strength had returned to him, he took it as an invitation and got up to have a wander.

Even if the mansion had still been more or less in one piece, Zoro probably would have gotten lost looking for the dining hall. Only the fact that there was a considerable amount of noise coming from that direction saved him from a night of hopeless wandering in the ruins. He still couldn't find the entrance, but he did find the door to the kitchen, though by that time it was clear that his body still had some catching up to do and he shouldn't have been so eager to exert himself so soon after waking up. He entered the kitchen to find Sanji hard at work as expected, the sleeves of his sweatshirt pushed up to his elbows and a towel over his shoulder. There was no space for pleasantries, but there was a stool near the counter that looked just right for sitting. Zoro made his way to it and slumped down, staying out of the way of the busy cook who was still back and forth from the stove to the dining room and back to the prep counter, keeping two crews fed and happy – and from the noise spilling through the open archway, they were certainly both. He could see some of their antics from where he sat, and heard everything, but it wasn't all being thrown right at him, and he was starting to realize that Chopper had a good point. He hated to admit that he was at all weak, but right now, he didn't want Luffy screaming in his face after all. After a few minutes, a mug was put down next to his elbow without a word. It looked like hot tea, but when Zoro brought it to his lips, he could smell the tang of alcohol. Sanji had spiked his tea for him. _What a guy._

Unfortunately, the quiet was not to last. Though most people weren't allowed in the kitchen on account of being noisy nuisances who did more harm than good, a handful were, and they all were happy to see Zoro out of bed and looking better, the color back in his face and spark in his eyes. When word got around that he was in the kitchen, even Luffy and Usopp came barging in to see him, and he had to endure another round of excitement that made his head ache. At least he got some news out of it; now that he was awake and mobile, they could get ready to leave. Franky was almost finished with the Rumbar Pirates' ship – nothing he couldn't crank out and consider finished in the morning – and whatever provisions hadn't already been consumed by the ravenous crews were ready to be divided and loaded. Lola and her Rolling Pirates would take Brook's old ship and try to get back on the course they had fallen off of thanks to their imprisonment on _Thriller Bark_ , while the Straw Hats prepared to continue on to Mermaid Island. All that was left, task-wise, was the grim and unfortunate duty of removing the remains of the Rumbar Pirates from their seafaring grave and giving them a proper burial. At least it wouldn't be as gross as getting rid of all the zombies from the area where the two crews had been eating, sleeping, and otherwise living the past few days, as Luffy pointed out with a bright laugh, though that was precisely why he wasn't going to be allowed to transport any skeletons off the ship. Nami lit into him, berating him with the importance of respecting their remains and showing Brook a little respect, too, since he was now their newest crewmate and didn't deserve to have his new captain playing with the skulls of his former crew. Before he could even begin to take offense at the insinuation that he would do such a thing (and Zoro knew full well, he totally would), Luffy got distracted by the fact that Brook wasn't there among them. “Where'd he go?” he wondered. “He was with us at dinner.”

“Maybe he needed to get a little air?” Usopp suggested.

“He's dead, he doesn't breathe!” Nami said, exasperated.

“And he would be the first one to remind us of that,” Robin added with a little laugh under her breath.

“I'm gonna go find him. Oh! I'm glad you're back to normal, Zoro!” Luffy crowed before dashing back through the dining room and off in search of the musical skeleton.

“Good,” Sanji broke in, drying his hands as he came over. “That gets rid of him. As for the rest of you, if you're not going to help with dishes, then get out of my kitchen. Ladies,” he added suavely to Nami and Robin, “as you please. I'm sure it's not your turn to do dishes anyway.”

Nami took full advantage of him and sauntered out. Seeing as she had no real business in there either, Robin soon followed. Usopp and Chopper were too slow to flee, so they got put to work, while Zoro was left out yet again. He eyeballed the others, but then decided he really didn't want to prove how healthy he was by washing dishes, and slipped out on his own when Sanji had his back turned.

The onset of night did not change the nature of the shadows in his private room. Zoro found himself unable to fall back asleep, his mind wide awake no matter how fatigued his battered body remained. The food and drink had done him a lot of good, but now he had just enough energy to lay there and think, and all his doubts and questions came slinking back in the deep quiet. The destruction of the mansion had left them with only candles and lanterns for light, in most areas, so the little windowless chamber was dim and cool, and those shadows only danced if Zoro made enough movement to create the slightest breeze to influence the candle flame. Chopper had checked on him once more before bed, and then he was alone, left only with his swords and his thoughts. After giving Shuusui a moment of his attention, gently fondling the black blade as if to reassure himself that he had really won its allegiance, Zoro had stretched himself out and let his mind wander where it may. 

He could remember snatches of the moments before passing out, and was no longer certain which were real and which were the product of fevered dreams while he lay unconscious. He knew Sanji had been the one to find him, but what had happened after that? He remembered worried looks, worried words, and maybe Chopper's cry of alarm, but he couldn't sort out the order in which they happened. As much as he wanted to know for his own satisfaction, he could live without ever having the full story of events. What he desperately wanted answers for, he expected never to get, and that frustrated him. Not that he could blame the stupid cook for not wanting to talk about it. Some part of him wanted never to talk about it, either. But... _why._ Why? He could go the rest of his life not knowing a thing of what had transpired during those three days of coma if he just knew _why_ Sanji had tried to stop him – to save him, as if he were one of the girls and too weak to handle the trial standing before him. Well, he had proven that, hadn't he? He had proven that he wasn't too weak at all, he had staved off death by a hair yet again and didn't even care that it defied explanation. But that damned cook and his chivalry, or was it something else? Why would he even bother? It went beyond a crewmate's respect. Any crewmate would have tried to talk him out of it, or found another solution, be it fighting or fleeing. Not Sanji. Just what was the stupid shitty cook trying to do? There were no answers to be had just by thinking, Zoro knew, but he couldn't get his mind off it. After a while, he became aware that it wasn't helping to just lay there and stew over it, so he tossed and turned and finally got comfortable enough to doze off.

Morning had completely passed by and noon was creeping ever closer by the time Zoro awoke, his body conspiring against him to make sure he got all the rest he needed before even becoming conscious enough to think about what else he might want or need to be doing with his day. Everything except him and his swords had been cleared out of the room while he slept, including the barrel of ale he had been hoping to make use of, which meant that the process of loading the ships with provisions had already begun. There were two things left for him, near the door on a pedestal which, until the battle, had probably held some kind of expensive piece of art or zombified statue: a folded shirt and a plate of sandwiches. Given that the abundance of bandages protecting his wounds made him look like a zombie, still, Zoro was grateful for the former and pulled it on before turning to the latter and devouring every last crumb. He finally felt steady enough on his feet to explore in earnest, and so tugged on his boots, collected his swords, and went looking for the rest of the crew.

He found the kitchen again, of all things, but it was dark and cold and had been stripped bare. No more meals there, then. He got turned around more than once and kept running into dead ends, halls blocked by debris and crumbled staircases, and even found the courtyard where the penultimate battle against Oars had taken place. There was almost nothing left to indicate that it had once been a magnificent yard surrounded by arcades and palisades and criss-crossing footbridges, it was now a field of smashed pavement, tilted stones, and great craters where the mighty had fallen hard. Zoro tried backtracking, but just ended up going out the wrong door and taking a turn to a place that felt uncomfortably familiar. Too bull-headed to turn back and try another route, he kept walking until he came to another clearing and found himself seizing up suddenly. It was as if his body knew what had taken place here, and reverted to the state of paralysis he had last experienced here. At the time, he had been too delirious to realize that the ordeal had not just taken place inside his body like a secret initiation trial. He could see now what Sanji had seen when he stumbled across the upturned paving stones and slid into that clearing: the halo of blood that had splashed outward from the center point where he had stood and thrust his hands into the bubble of compressed pain. It was dried, now, a brown stain on the brown earth and alabaster stones, but it was still obvious just how much of it there had been. Zoro stood gaping for a moment. He had grappled with his own mortality, looked Death in the eye and told it no thanks, but something about that place brought it back to him viscerally, something he had not expected. After a bit, he flexed one hand as if to prove to himself that he could still move, and the twitch aroused the rest of his muscles. He wasn't paralyzed, he was alive, and this place no longer had a hold over him. He breathed deeply, taking in air and letting it slowly out as if it were his first breath ever, and then turned and walked away.

Ahead, there was a flutter of activity in the trees. Zoro focused on it and let it draw him back to where everyone was, or at least where people were coming and going. Some of the Rolling Pirates were still basking in the sunshine, sitting around talking about what they would do once they were back on the high seas, while others were seeing to the final preparations for embarking. The cobweb netting had been removed from both the _Thousand Sunny_ and the old ghost ship once belonging to the Rumbar Pirates, and the relic refitted with new sails, a new rudder, and an upgraded helm. She was fifty years out of date in some regards, but still seaworthy, considering she had stayed afloat in the Florian Triangle for so long. Franky made sure that the Rolling Pirates could use her to get at least as far as Water Seven, where they could get a more modern ship and properly stock up. As Zoro came wandering by, he nodded to himself, impressed that their shipwright had managed to give new life to the ghost ship after all. From there it was on to the _Sunny_ , also a hubbub of activity. Luffy bounded all around him like a playground ball, because Zoro being awake meant that it was time to get ready to leave for real. They were really only waiting on him, after all. He reassured them all that he was fine, but he wanted to take care of one thing before they set sail. “Last night you were talking about giving the ghost ship's crew a proper burial,” he remembered, turning to Robin and Usopp. “What happened with that? Or is it going to be a burial at sea?”

“Oh, yeah,” Usopp replied, “we did that this morning. They decided to dig a grave, over that way...” He pointed, up over the nearest hill into the trees just beyond at the edge of the mansion grounds. “...me and Franky put up a really nice monument and everything. In fact, I think Brook is still there, paying his respects.”

“Did you want to see it, also?” Robin wondered.

“No. I've got something else to do.” Zoro turned and left them, and went into the men's cabin. He was pretty sure that was where he would find what he needed, and sure enough, it was resting against the wall near his locker. There had been only three swords on his person during the worst of the fighting, and only three with him in the mansion when he awoke. That meant Yubashiri, useless as it was, had been left behind. Zoro went to it and picked it up, cradling the lacquered saya in his hands for one last time, and then tucked it under his arm to carry it away. Without a word to any of the others about his errand, he hopped down off the ship and followed Usopp's vague directions toward the place where the Rumbar Pirates had been laid to rest.

For as dark and eerie as the place had been when they first landed under the cover of permanent night, _Thriller Bark_ seemed to have become completely mundane under the bright sunshine. It no longer had the pall of fear and dread laying over it that gave it its name, yet it was still a ship of death, and would remain so until time or misfortune finally sank it and sent it to its own watery grave. Despite the fact he didn't know exactly where he was going, Zoro managed to somehow make it through the trees to the solemn gravesite without getting lost once. Along the way, he heard snatches of a dirge being played on a violin – no, wait, that was no dirge, it was “Binks' Sake,” just played really slowly – and followed the sound to its source. Franky had outdone himself yet again, the headstone standing over the mass grave where the remains of the Rumbar Pirates had been buried was tall and grand, as befitting such adventurous pirates. There was no mistaking that this was the place. The gangly skeleton in the somber suit and top hat was sitting before it, playing the last strains of the familiar song as his final farewell to his crew. Zoro stood back to let him finish, and then came forward to thrust Yubashiri's saya into the freshly-turned dirt. Brook startled at the motion, but went still a moment later as Zoro folded his legs and sat down. “Ah, you surprised me a little, there,” the skeleton admitted. “How are you doing, are you all right, now?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Zoro murmured. “I just overslept, is all.”

Brook's head turned toward the sword, now sticking out of the dirt straight up in its saya. “And, what is that, then?”

“A dead katana,” Zoro said heavily, his eyes caressing the curve of the black saya and noting the gold glinting in the sun. “Yubashiri. I'd like to give it a proper send-off.”

He remembered all his old customs as taught at the dojo by his first true sensei, and placed his hands together before his face, closing his eyes and bowing his head. He had nothing to pray to, no one to say words to, but he went completely still and silent in respect for the sword which had been his third companion for so many long months, the blade which had come into his hands as a gift from one sword-lover to another and served him well. It did everything he asked of it and then some, saved his life, helped him to get stronger. They could have gone on further together if not for the chance encounter with a Marine captain with just the wrong kind of devil fruit power for a swordsman to face. Zoro breathed in a slow, meditative pace, and then let out an exhale as his final farewell before lifting his head. Only then did he become aware that Brook was still staring at him with those empty eye sockets. He glanced aside and wondered, “Hmm?”

“Oh – nothing, it's nothing,” Brook assured, snapping himself out of whatever he was thinking. “Oh! You know, I will be sailing with your crew from now on...”

Zoro blinked. Some part of him knew that, or at least wasn't surprised, but in all the chatter hurled at him since waking up, somehow no one had directly told him of this decision in so many words. “Is that right,” he murmured. “Well, that's your bad luck, then.”

“Eh?”

“Being in this crew...” A wry smile curved Zoro's lips. “It can be a bit crazy sometimes, you know.”

Brook flung up his arms and let out a loud one of his “Yohohohoho!” laughs. “Absolutely! And as a part of it, I will do my best until my dying day!” He froze, and then added, slightly less noisily: “Even though I've already died.”

He burst out in another fit of eerie cackles, making Zoro simply close his eyes and sigh. _He fits in perfectly_ , he decided on the spot. Only then did he remember that the zombie from whom he had won his new sword had been powered by Brook's own shadow, meaning that a portion of that insane strength and technique belonged to their new crewmate. He looked up, again, as Brook calmed down and stowed his violin inside his ribcage. “So you're a swordsman, too.”

“Oh yes.” Those empty sockets swiveled back to regard him again. “Though, having seen your amazing technique, I can say without a doubt that we come from very different schools of swordsmanship. Have no fear, Roronoa, I'm not here to take your place.”

“I never said you were,” Zoro remarked, though now that it was out there, he couldn't help but wonder just a little. Up until this distant end of the Grand Line, everyone in the crew had had very distinct roles both on and off the battlefield, and no powers or skill sets had been duplicated. Each of them was unique and original. But when Franky joined, he took a portion of Usopp's duties and the ship itself eliminated some of the things Zoro was used to doing. Now with Brook coming aboard, they had two swordsmen, even if they used vastly different styles of fighting. Zoro swore to himself that he wasn't feeling pushed aside, not at all. Not him. He was stronger than that.

“If I haven't thanked you enough yet for defeating that zombie,” Brook broke in on his thoughts, “then allow me to say it again. Thank you, for getting back my shadow and making all of this possible. I never dared to dream that things could have worked out so well.”

Zoro accepted his gratitude with a shrug, keeping his eyes fixed on the gleam of sunlight on the gold of Yubashiri's tsuba. “Don't sweat it.”

With the faintest clack of bone on bone, Brook unfolded his long limbs and got up, and then brushed off his trousers and coattails. “I will allow you a few minutes to yourself, then. Farewells and respects are important things to be observed.” He clasped his bony hands behind him and sauntered off through the trees back toward the ships, humming the same song he had been playing as a funeral dirge.

Zoro didn't need any extra minutes alone with his dead sword, but he appreciated the silence all the same. He looked up at the grand headstone, wondering about these Rumbar Pirates, since he had been asleep for all the partying and sharing of stories. There must have been a reason they had been interred in the soil that made up the island portion of the immense ship rather than laid to rest at sea like many pirates preferred. Then again, there was already a graveyard available (currently located way over on the other side of the mansion, not that he knew), maybe that had something to do with it. Lacing his fingers together in his lap, Zoro bowed his head and allowed himself a few extra minutes of silent thought, remembering, appreciating, and searching himself to find that he wasn't at all upset. Yubashiri had done its job, and it was now time to lay such a famous sword to rest. There was no room in the life of a man aspiring to the world's greatest for keeping the remains with him, that level of sentimentality was wasteful. When he had deemed it enough time, Zoro got to his feet and brushed his fingertips along the golden pommel of the sword to say goodbye, and then turned his back on it for the final time. He started off vaguely in the direction he thought Brook had gone, scratching at his bandages. They were bothering him already. As he walked, looking for the ships, he began to pull at them, and before long there was a trail of them winding across the forest floor, marking the zig-zag path of a man who was well on his way to getting lost again.

There were a lot of cheerful and tearful goodbyes at the dock, as the Rolling Pirates did their best to thank and see off the crew who had saved their lives multiple times over, a lot of flailing and cheering, some hugging, then waving and dancing until the _Thousand Sunny_ had passed through the gates onto the open sea and left the ship of nightmares behind. Zoro had no intention of looking back, but he didn't know what else to do with himself. He had already gotten an earful from Chopper about taking off his bandages prematurely, and so wanted to stay away from the possibility of even more trouble. The kitchen seemed like the best bet, since he was feeling hungry again already and of everyone on the ship, the cook was the one person he could trust wouldn't give him shit right at that moment. Surprisingly so, but there it was. He climbed up the steps to the galley and slipped inside, and as expected, Sanji was already hard at work on what would eventually be dinner. He glanced up upon hearing the noise of the door, but betrayed nothing of his thoughts in his expression. “What do you want?” he grunted.

Zoro frowned. “Same thing anyone wants when they walk into a kitchen,” he growled in answer. “Those sandwiches earlier weren't nearly enough.”

There was a brief twitch of Sanji's eyebrow, and then he swept the vegetables he was cutting into a bowl and set them aside for the time being. “Sounds like your appetite is already back. I see you pulled off all your bandages, too.” Even with his back to the door, Zoro could hear the smirk in his tone. “You just have to make Chopper's life more difficult, don't you.”

“I couldn't move around,” Zoro complained, the same line he used on the doctor earlier.

Sanji seemed to ignore him in favor of moving around the kitchen, putting the bowl in the fridge and taking something else out, cleaning his knife, and switching gears to this new task. “That might also have something to do with the fact that you were beaten to within an inch of your life,” he noted over his shoulder. “You just woke up yesterday. I _know_ you're not completely healed up.”

“What's it to you?” Zoro didn't intend for it to come out so sullen. He crossed the room and slid to a seat at the bar, opposite where the cook worked with ease. “I'm fine. Everybody can stop fussing.”

“Who's fussing?” Sanji glanced his way long enough to eye him, and then went right back to his prep work. “If you're going to hang around here and watch, do it silently. I have enough to do without entertaining you on top of it.”

For a little while, it looked like the swordsman was going to do exactly that. He folded his arms on the counter and followed the motions of Sanji's hands and tools with his eyes alone, even though cooking was generally something in which he had zero interest. There was something graceful about the way Sanji did it, he made it look effortless as he moved from the counter to the stove, cutting and stirring and magically turning a pile of unrelated ingredients into a meal. But it could only hold Zoro's attention for so long before he got bored and opened his mouth. “What's with the stupid sweater?”

“What's with the stupid face?” Sanji shot back. “It's not a sweater, it's a sweat _shirt_. And it's comfortable, so shut up.” The banter did not put the tiniest hitch in his cooking progress, he moved smoothly about and in almost no time delivered a plate heaped with food in front of Zoro, who blinked at it, not expecting it quite so fast. It wasn't anything elaborate, merely shrimp fried rice, but it was fresh and piping hot, and at least double or triple a normal serving. The shrimp was plump and seared perfectly, having been netted from the ocean the day before, and the vegetables were still crisp and flavorful. Sanji regarded him staring at the plate and snorted. “What's the matter? Never seen lunch before?”

It occurred to Zoro that he hadn't actually asked for lunch – demanded with his presence and complaining about sandwiches, sure, but he hadn't politely placed an order – and yet there it was, sitting in front of him looking and smelling like heaven. He hesitated for only a moment before grabbing the fork laid next to the plate and digging in with gusto. With that order filled, Sanji was free to go back to his prep for dinner, which was still several hours away but needed time for marinating, steaming, roasting, and baking. As he ate, Zoro continued to turn things over in his mind – words, mostly, as if replaying those conversations would shed new light on them in a different context and with a hot meal in his belly. Once in a while he would glance up from his plate as the blue of Sanji's sweatshirt passed his line of sight, though it never meant an impending interruption in his dining. Sanji was quite busy, it seemed, and didn't appear to even care that he had a customer at the bar. Zoro decided to test the limits of his patience. He cleared his throat quietly. “Could use something to drink.”

Sanji did not miss a single step in his dance around the kitchen, sweeping back in the direction of the fridge. “Cold or hot?”

“Beer.”

“Not until dinner.”

“Come on!”

“You're lucky I even bothered to bring you some last night.” After a moment, Sanji set a cup of coffee on the counter next to Zoro's hand. “Deal with it.”

Zoro looked at it as if it contained explosives. That did bear the question, just why he had brought a bottle of whiskey to an invalid in the first place, if he was so worried about his health. Worried? _Him?_ Never, unless it was a woman he could fawn over. It was yet another strange inconsistency about Sanji to add to the pile. The unexpected appearance of Bartholomew Kuma had brought something unusual out in the cook, and Zoro was bound and determined now to get to the bottom of it. One way or another. He decided to accept the coffee and took a sip to wash down his lunch – black, no sugar or milk, just the way he liked it. It made him shoot the cook's back a suspicious look. “You're being nice to me because I almost died,” he said, bluntly, accusingly.

Sanji snorted again, barely bothering to turn and look at him while he brushed flour off his hands. “Calling your face stupid is nice? You have a weird sense of niceness, moss-head. If that's the way you like it, far be it from me to spoil your fun.” He came over and leaned in close, putting on a smug smirk. “Your shitty green hair is also stupid. And you need a shower.”

Zoro stared him down without flinching, not impressed. “That's not what I meant, and you know it.”

Sanji straightened back up and turned away, back to the large baking tray containing rows of perfectly-round dinner rolls, fresh from rising in a dark cabinet and ready to be baked now. He put the finishing touches on them and slid the tray into the hot oven. “You're overreacting. I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary.”

“Right.” Though, as he took the coffee cup in both hands and raised it to his lips, the swordsman had to think a little bit more. Was it so unusual to be granted his favorite foods, a little whiskey, just-right coffee? Had he ever had a complaint about the promptness of kitchen service or the quality of his meals? Even when times were tough, when money was low or provisions were scarce, when they lacked the chance to resupply at an island or the fishing was terrible, there was nothing wrong with his meals. Maybe Sanji was right, and he was just misreading the cook's talent and sense of timing as something more. But the number of times Zoro had heard him yell at Luffy to keep his pants on, he would get food when it was time and not a second sooner, was enough to keep his doubts alive. He squinted at Sanji, considering how best to keep needling at this subject to get the truth when he didn't want to talk directly about Kuma's deal. “What about yesterday, with the booze?”

“I knew if I didn't bring you any, you'd complain,” Sanji replied, still keeping himself busy so as not to actually look at him. “And the last thing I need right now is your bitching. I had enough to do feeding all those people, _and_ getting provisions ready, listening to you whine about not getting alcohol would have been the last straw.”

“Now you're trying way too damn hard.”

“Don't like it? Tough.” Sanji scoffed over his shoulder and moved to wash his hands. “It's the truth.”

Zoro looked down at his empty plate, and came to a decision rather quickly. He set down the coffee cup, pushed himself to his feet, and made it around the end of the counter by the time Sanji had dried his hands – too late for him to escape. Even as he was turning to see why there was movement alongside him, Zoro grabbed him by a handful of sweatshirt and shoved him against the sink. Normally, Sanji would have retaliated instantly, but he was so startled that for a moment he even forgot to be angry. “Don't fuck with me, I'm not in the mood,” Zoro growled. “I've had a very long couple of days, I'm sore, and I don't need your bullshit.”

“Then you should go to bed,” Sanji said dryly, tipping his chin up to meet the stare smoldering at him from an inch away. “Go lie down in the infirmary like the injured dumbass you are.”

“Piss off.”

“No, you.” A scowl began to grow on Sanji's face, though he didn't tear his eye away from Zoro's glare. “Get _off_ me, or I'll reopen every one of your damn wounds.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on,” Zoro demanded.

“There's nothing going on!” Sanji insisted, boggled. “What kind of stupid story are you making up in your head? You just had lunch, that's all that's happened in the last hour!”

“I don't mean now.” Zoro eased his grip but didn't back away, keeping the cook trapped against the sink. It took effort to keep up that much irritation, a nagging reminder that he wasn't back at full strength yet. “You and I both know what happened out there.”

Sanji's expression snapped closed like the shuttering of iron bars over a window. His mouth became a thin, tight line. For a long time they stared each other down, almost daring one another with their eyes to be the one to actually speak of that moment. Then, Sanji's jaw clenched slightly, making the scruff on his chin bristle. “I don't see why you should care.”

“Why shouldn't I? It's my life.” Zoro felt like he finally had his chance, but he had to tread lightly, or the cook's body language wouldn't be the only thing that would close up tight. He retreated a step to the previous topic, it was safer. “Don't coddle me. I'm not weak.”

“I never said you were,” Sanji said warily.

“You're treating me like I'm fragile. Like I'm one of the _girls_.”

It might have been his imagination, but he thought he saw a blush dash across Sanji's cheekbones in immediate response to that word. It was gone so fast he wasn't sure he had really seen it. “Did all that blood loss addle your brain?” Sanji snarled, pushing him away with a stiff forearm. “You're imagining things! I'm not doing a damn thing different from my usual routine, so I don't know what you _think_ you're seeing.”

“Whatever,” Zoro huffed, “just knock it off. I don't need you doting on me.”

“Oh, so you don't want your regular allotment of beer and meat. Fine,” Sanji said dismissively, “bread and water it is.”

“That's not what I said!” As soon as the yell was out of his mouth, Zoro reeled back a step from a sudden wave of dizziness. Sanji lunged to grab his arm before he could stumble against the hot stove, but the swordsman pulled free and leaned on the clean counter instead. “Stop it. I'm fine.”

“No you're not.” Sanji crowded him, mainly to keep him herded away from the food. “Save the brave face for the others. And sit your damn ass down.”

Zoro elbowed him to get some space, but wasn't expecting what happened next. The moment his elbow connected with Sanji's chest, the cook winced and recoiled with a hard gasp, an arm crossing over his torso to protect it. Zoro blinked at him, though it was clear he hadn't done too much damage. “What the hell,” he murmured.

“It's nothing,” Sanji breathed, straightening up and rubbing his chest. “If yours is nothing then so is mine.”

Zoro harrumphed at him. “You've seen my worst.”

It was a fair challenge. Sanji eyed him back and then tugged up his sweatshirt enough to reveal the bandages wrapped tightly around his ribcage – and the rather large bruise on his left flank just above his hipbone. “This is what happens when you get thrown into a wall by a giant damn zombie, after everything else.”

“How many did you break this time?”

“Six. Four on the right, two on the left.” Sanji straightened his shirt back out and shrugged off the pain. “Not much more than usual.”

“Idiot.” Zoro shot him a disgruntled look. “You shouldn't be hauling supplies and standing around cooking.”

“And you should be in bed with bandages tied around your whole body,” Sanji said in return. “Shoe's on the other foot now, is it? You don't get to mother-hen me and then refuse it in turn, marimo.”

“Like hell.” Seeing the damage didn't make Zoro any less combative, though he did feel a twinge of regret at seeing how badly he had bruised Sanji in his attempt to protect him. “You're embarrassing yourself, so just stop it.”

“Embarrassing myself?” Sanji repeated, unamused. “In front of who, you? Big deal. I don't care what you think.”

“No?” Zoro studied him, unsure whether to take him at his word. He knew the cook to be an honest man, in general. He tended to omit rather than lie directly unless it was part of a strategy, to deflect and use his words as skillfully as Zoro used swords, to shape perceptions without actively speaking lies. The swordsman folded his arms over his chest, in essence hiding his own wounds. “So, what. No matter how much I protest, you're not going to stop?”

“Stop what? Being normal? I don't see how.” Sanji faced him directly. “I don't know what your problem is, but as I see it, you should probably just shut up and forget about it. You're the one who's embarrassing yourself, making up these stories about how I'm being _nice_ to you or something.”

“Fine. I don't really care,” Zoro huffed, pouting. “It was just annoying me is all. Like most of what you do.”

“Oh, first I'm being too nice, now I'm annoying you? Make up your damn mind.”

Zoro's expression twisted into a glare. He could never stand arguing with Sanji, the cook always had a way with words that put him on top. The only way they could settle anything was to fight it out, but right now, both of them were too injured to even slap one another. He still had enough energy to bristle. “How about I give you a few more bruises to add to your collection?”

“No thanks,” Sanji said dryly, “you gave me one good one already. I'll cherish it forever.”

Zoro twitched again but shook it off. “It was for your own good!”

“Ohhh?” Sanji came back at him, grabbing a handful of his lapel and yanking him so he could yell in the swordsman's face. “I think it was _my_ decision, not yours, you bastard!”

“Like hell! You interfered – it was _my_ decision first!”

“What, to die? To give up your dream and this crew?” They were right in each other's faces, and didn't care if their voices were raised, or eyes bright with anger, or cheeks flushed. “I thought you were better than that!”

“And what about you? You were gonna do the same thing!”

“You can survive without me!” Sanji shouted it and then caught his breath as if trying to suck the words back in. When he went on, his voice was quieter. “There are other cooks in the world. Maybe none of them can measure up to me, but they can still make food for the crew.” He didn't lower his gaze, his eyes boring into Zoro's with a deadly honesty. “They can't survive without you.”

Zoro met his gaze, not about to be the first one to flinch even though those words filled him with a strange mixture of cold dread and hot emotion. “What are you talking about?” he dared, his voice low and dark.

“You know I'm right.” Sanji's tone matched his. “Luffy needs you. He's not going to make it to King without a strong right hand. He can be fed by any cook but you...”

“Shut up.” Zoro cut him off right there with a snarl. “You're more important than that.”

Sanji let his head tip back, a faint sort of smirk crossing his lips. “Oh? Suddenly with the compliments?”

Zoro smacked at the hand still clutching his lapel to get it to let go. “Don't get your pants in a bunch, I'm not saying it to butter you up,” he said gruffly. “It's the bald-faced truth. You're one of the strongest fighters in the crew. If you got killed there'd be one less monster to protect everyone else.” He stared Sanji down coldly. “You want to die with that on your conscience? That the girls got hurt because you weren't here?”

Sanji instantly turned livid, his face burning red and teeth bared. Using the women against him was a low blow, but effective. “Is that why you decided to punch me in the kidney?” he seethed. “So the _ladies_ wouldn't be without their prince? Flattering as it is...” He leaned into Zoro's face until their noses nearly touched. “...I don't buy it for a _second_.”

Zoro bristled right back at him for the close proximity, but then backed off. “Sorry,” he muttered under his breath. “Would you rather I left the bruise on the back of your head instead of your side?”

“That fucking hurt!” Sanji yelped at him. “That was a bastard move and you know it!”

“Yeah.” Zoro tilted his head aloofly. “I knew how badly you were injured. I knew one shot right there would take you down in an instant, without doing any more real damage. That bruise is nothing.”

However true, he said it that way to be irritating, and it clearly worked given the way the cook fussed and grumbled under his breath in reaction. “It still doesn't answer my question,” he pointed out. “ _Why_.” 

Zoro's dark eyes narrowed, hearing his own desperate, burning question thrown back at him like that. So, he wasn't the only one wondering. For a moment he was torn, wanting to repay Sanji's general brand of assholery with a little of his own, thinking about withholding the answer just because he expected to never get his answer in turn. It didn't occur to him to lie, only to string Sanji along for a bit, dance around the issue until his frustration was at its max. “What, I have to have a reason?” he said stiffly.

“Yes. Of all people, _you_ do.” Sanji stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers rather forcefully. “Unless you want me to believe you're so petty that you'd get jealous of somebody else showing just as much balls and courage as you, and knocked him out so you could have the honor of martyrdom all to yourself. Because of all the things I know about you, Zoro, I know you're not that pathetic.”

Zoro recoiled slightly, clenching his jaw shut in frustration. That would have been his go-to excuse, but Sanji had already seen through it. “Doesn't matter,” he said sulkily. “I didn't die, so it's not like we have to talk about who sacrificed what for what.”

“Oh, no.” Sanji pulled one hand free and poked Zoro in the chest, not caring that it made him wince. “You're not going to get away with that. What matters is that you tried to die, and I tried to stop you.”

“Why.” Zoro whipped the word out so quickly, so bluntly, that it didn't even come with a questioning inflection. It was still a query, or perhaps a demand, but they were actually talking about it and he wasn't going to let the opportunity slip past him. “There was no reason – and don't give me that bullshit about the crew needing me more than you. Flattery won't get you anywhere.”

Sanji took a step back, his expression going quiet and his posture relaxing. He had seen it coming far too late, and now they were at an impasse. If he wanted a reason from Zoro, he would have to give up a reason in turn, and there would be no getting away from it. Unless, of course, they agreed to keep their secrets and drop it right there, but now that it was out there, hanging in the air between them, it didn't seem like there was any graceful way to get out of it. He averted his gaze to the side, unable to look Zoro in the eye. “You're crew,” he said quietly, almost mumbling in his embarrassment. “Crewmates look out for one another.”

“Is that all?” Zoro didn't believe it. As awkward as it was to even think that they might actually not hate each other, he couldn't buy that it was merely the obligation of crew. For some reason, he needed to hear for himself that which he was starting to suspect, and wasn't going to let go until he had heard the words. He stared hard at Sanji, noting his refusal to meet his eyes. “Bullshit.”

That was enough provocation to get the cook to look at him again – Sanji's head whipped back around, his face heating with a snarl. “It is not! It's the truth! I don't turn my back on _any_ one in this crew, not even you!”

“It's not the only truth.” Zoro kept peering, because it seemed to be working. Sanji was losing his composure, starting to fluster. It was only a matter of the right prodding and he might lose the ability to keep anything hidden. For his part, Zoro was certain of the things he was saying, he was speaking as soon as the realizations came to mind. “There's more to it than that.”

Sanji twitched and shook his head quickly. “There's not! I don't know what you're getting at...”

Zoro rushed him, grabbing fistfuls of his sweatshirt and pushing him up against the refrigerator door. “Tell me!” he demanded, trying not to yell too much. He didn't want the others barging in to break them up, not when he was so close to getting his answers. “Why did you try to save me? Why did you want to give up your life for me!”

Wincing at the jostling to his broken ribs, Sanji said nothing in reply, gritting his teeth as if to force the words back. He slipped his foot around behind Zoro's legs and effortlessly knocked him backwards without having to find room to kick him in the narrow galley. He knew every inch of his kitchen and could drop the swordsman flat on his back without risking anything on the counters on either side, using the right leg trap. But as he fell, Zoro's hands tightened on the shirt, and so the cook went tumbling after him. He caught himself on his knees as Zoro thudded onto the floor with a strangled sort of cry at the jolt of pain to the injuries he was trying so hard to ignore. “Serves you right,” Sanji gasped, rubbing at his chest, “manhandling me like that.”

Zoro coughed and gasped for breath, squeezing his eyes shut against the jangling sensations of pain all up and down his back. When he could manage words again, he started with a choice curse for his comrade. “Why won't you tell me?” he seethed.

“Why do you need to know so bad?”

“I just do, all right!”

“It's like I said...”

“No it isn't!” Zoro forced himself to sit up, and finding Sanji kneeling over him, snatched at his shirt again. “Crewmates look after each other, make sure everyone comes out alive. This is different. _Too_ different. It's not like you at all.”

Sanji's brow knit deeply. “You think you're an expert on what's 'like me' now?” he said, his tone low and tense.

“As much as anyone else on this ship.” Zoro stared him down, though he refrained from pulling Sanji any closer. “You know full well what I'm talking about.”

“Enlighten me,” Sanji said sternly. “Because no, I don't know what the hell you're on about.”

Zoro's eyes darkened intensely. “The kind of sacrifice I was willing to make is a point of honor,” he breathed angrily. “When you interfered, of all the damn things you could have done to try to keep me alive, you chose to make the same sacrifice.”

Sanji's visible eye narrowed. “What, are you pissed that I can be just as honorable as you?”

“No, idiot!” Zoro gave him a full teeth-bared scowl. “You wouldn't do that for me! I was expecting you to fight or try to grab me and run away, or distract that warlord bastard, but you didn't do any of that. You did something _honorable_ for me.” His grip slid to Sanji's sleeve, but this time he did tug in his impatience. “I want to know what the deal is!”

There was a long pause while the cook just sat and stared at him, meeting his gaze with a similar aura of anger wreathed around him, his jaw clenching as it would if he had a cigarette in his mouth. “It sounds to me like you _don't_ actually know me that well after all, if it's bugging you so much.” And then, suddenly, his cheeks flushed red as cherries, clearly against his will or any ability to stop it from happening.

Zoro recoiled, blinking. He was certain he was seeing Sanji blush furiously, but he couldn't even begin to fathom why. He stared at it for another long moment, which only made the cook blush even further and try to look away. “Just tell me,” he said heavily, giving the sleeve another tug.

Sanji's hand came over the top of his to stop it from pulling on his shirt, and then stayed there. “Don't.”

“Cook...”

“I _can't_.” Sanji's head drooped, bowing enough to hide his eyes and reddened cheeks, everything but his scowl. “Don't push it, Zoro. I can't... _say _...”__

Zoro was beginning to feel like his point about the cook acting weird was pretty much made by this display, but he wisely kept that to himself. He breathed a deep sigh and let go of Sanji's sleeve, sliding his hand away. “I just want an explanation,” he said plainly. “This is the last time I'll say anything about this, I swear. After this, I plan to never talk about what happened ever again.”

“And you can't let it go right now?”

“It's not enough.”

Before he could even take a breath, they both heard the click of the latch of the galley door. Sanji lunged and clapped a hand over Zoro's mouth to force him to keep silent, seeing as they were both still on the floor behind the counter having their little discussion. Luffy's voice rang out brightly as the door creaked open. “Sanji! When is...Sanji? Oh, he's not here. Huh. He must be down in one of the storerooms, I'll go look.” The door banged shut again, cutting off another of his yells for the cook.

With the interruption past, Zoro raised an eyebrow at this extra flash of odd behavior. Sanji pulled back from him and heaved an annoyed sigh. “Dammit, I wish you'd just let it go. You might not like the answer you're begging for.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Zoro set his mouth in a stern line. “Don't make my decisions for me, idiot. I can handle anything you throw at me.”

For a moment Sanji remained still, sitting with his head turned to the side. Then, when he was able to rouse himself from his thoughts, he leaned over and grabbed a hold of Zoro's shirt collar. The swordsman sat back until his back hit the cabinet behind him, but it wasn't far enough to extract himself. He held still and stared, nonplussed, as the cook pressed slowly closer – if they were going to be arguing nose-to-nose or revealing secrets, he wouldn't be this delicate about it...right? He breathed a quiet, “Oi...” in warning, but Sanji came closer still, ducking his head. They were close enough now to find it natural to drop their gazes from each other's eyes to their lips. _Oh shit_ , was all Zoro could think, _is he going to_ kiss _me?_

Sanji paused a mere inch away, and it was clear by now that yes, he was indeed poised to press his lips against Zoro's. But he didn't. He hesitated for a long time, and then turned his head away in embarrassment with a small groan. Actions were apparently as difficult as words. He let go of Zoro's lapel and pushed his hand against the other man's brawny chest, weakly pushing himself away, and then slid to a seat beside him on the floor with his back against the same cabinet. In the deepening silence between them, he fished in his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter, and patiently lit it and took a few deep drags to calm himself. Zoro remained where he was, legs stretched out and mind reeling. _What_ was _that? Was he really going to...?_ But he didn't ask, because he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. The cook's warning was apt: he should have let it go. Too late now.

After a long silence where neither of them moved and Sanji smoked through almost all of his cigarette, he lifted a hand to claw through his hair. “Forget it,” he muttered.

“You really think I can?” Zoro shot him a glare out of the corner of his eye. “You'd better not be messing with me...!”

“Like I would!” Sanji spat, rounding on him only briefly before settling back against the counter. “That's not the way I would do it.”

True, Zoro thought to himself. Sanji could be winding him up, but if so, he wouldn't pretend to try to kiss a man. Not _Sanji_. His head slowly turned toward the cook, regarding him and his demeanor for a long time. When he spoke again, Zoro's voice was soft. “I thought you liked women.”

“I do!” Sanji insisted, crouching even tighter into himself like a ball of anger. “That's not...! Stop trying to find a reason, just let it go, Zoro!”

With a grunt, the swordsman shook his head. He had his answer, and it wasn't something he could ignore. The fog was clearing, he could see now what everything meant. Well, most of it. “So that's why you wanted to save me,” he said flatly. “Why you wanted to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Hearing it stated made Sanji flush red again, though he was so tightly-wrapped and avoiding Zoro's gaze that all he could see was the bright hot tip of one ear peeking through his hair. “Can't you just keep your mouth shut?” he hissed under his breath.

“No.” Yet, that was all the more Zoro had to say, now that he understood. He reached to set a hand on Sanji's arm, and refused to be thrown off or pushed away. His grip was firm but not aggressive. Sanji struggled against him for a moment, trying to get away, but all it did was serve to unwrap him from his balled-up stance. Once he realized he had been revealed his resistance ebbed, but his arm remained tensed, ready to take advantage of the slightest slip in Zoro's guard should he decide it was safe to ease up. That didn't happen. They stared hard at each other, until Sanji's cigarette began to quiver just a bit from where it was being held in his lips. Zoro could tell he was angry, aching to scream at him, and yet he didn't, curiously enough. What happened then surprised both of them, though surely the swordsman a bit more. Their stalemate broke without warning, as Sanji stopped resisting and let his posture relax. He followed the pull of the hand on his arm and threw himself against Zoro, curling one arm around his neck and shoulder. Zoro tensed for a moment, and then permitted it, heaving a big sigh. He found himself with his face pressed against Sanji's shoulder and sank into it, closing his eyes. It wasn't so bad, after all. 

He could feel Sanji's heart racing, and marveled at it, for even though they had been fighting, something told him it was for a different reason. After a bit, he roused a hand and slid it comfortably around the cook's waist to return the embrace. He felt a sudden intake of breath against his neck, but Sanji didn't change his posture otherwise. For a long time they remained locked so, one arm each committed to the embrace, not speaking, hardly stirring. At some invisible, intangible signal they parted, and Sanji immediately pushed himself to his feet to get back to cooking. Zoro's gaze followed him, and then he also got up, grunting a little at the strain to his injuries. “Sit back down,” Sanji murmured over his shoulder. “You can fool the others but you're not fooling me.”

“I'm fine,” Zoro insisted, though he placed a hand on the counter to steady himself. “It's not that bad.”

“Bullshit.” Sanji drifted back towards him, though this time refrained from touching him. He stood close, though, much closer than usual, his face solemn. “I know what happened.”

Zoro twitched, clenching his jaw. “What? How?”

“A couple of the Rolling guys were conscious at the time,” Sanji replied, his tone quiet and flat. “They saw everything. What we both did, and what happened after you knocked me out.”

The swordsman crumpled a bit, leaning against the hand braced on the counter. “Shit. Now everyone knows...”

“No, they don't.” Zoro's head came up at that, so he could peer at his comrade as if to challenge his statement. Sanji regarded him before continuing his explanation. “I threatened those two to keep their mouths shut. So as of this moment, I'm the only one who knows.”

Zoro scowled unhappily at him. “Make sure it stays that way.”

“I wasn't planning to tell anybody. I know how you are with your pride.”

Zoro waited for more – for him to make a threat or taunt or blackmail him into keeping that secret, but it never came. Sanji only took out a fresh cigarette and lit it. “And?” Zoro finally prompted.

“What? Do you _want_ me to tell them? Don't be stupid.” Sanji's eyes went hard. “It's not for anyone else to know.”

It was better than he had ever hoped. Though, Zoro bristled a little at the reason he knew lay behind Sanji's willingness to be so accommodating. He wasn't sure, yet, what he thought about it, but knowing the cook as he did, there was a lot he didn't want. If he so much as came at him with hearts in his eyes, there'd be hell to pay. But as they stood close together, in each other's presence with a long, comfortable silence stretching on, he found he didn't mind the overall revelation so much. In fact, it poked at some part of him that hadn't really gotten much use so far in his life; he valued his friendships among the crew, being able to be close to people was nice, but this was a different type of closeness that awoke a gnawing hunger deep inside him somewhere. He had always assumed the cook didn't want anything to do with him, not even to be considered a friend, but somehow he had wormed his way into Zoro's life without either of them realizing how deeply connected they really were. The incident with Kuma had brought it from the dark depths of secrecy into the broad light of day, where neither of them could really deny it anymore. The longer they stood there, not really moving or saying anything, the more Zoro's irritation ebbed, and he relaxed enough to be able to push himself away from the counter. In contrast, Sanji's tension seemed to remain at high levels, and he smoked his way through that cigarette out of desperation to find calm without even once turning away to resume cooking. Zoro only needed to turn slightly to let their shoulders brush together. “What do you want from me, then?” he murmured quietly.

“Nothing,” Sanji replied, turning his face away but accepting the shoulder-touch. “You wanted to know so damn badly, now you know. Don't want anything else from you.”

Zoro wasn't so sure it was bullshit this time, but he let it be. He nudged with his shoulder and continued on his way, around the end of the counter to go find his seat again. “Fine, but if you change your mind, then say something. Fighting with you is no fun when you're holding back.”

Sanji's gaze darted to follow him, as he wondered about the phrasing. Only belatedly did he realize that he hadn't been thrown into a wall or punched or had a marimo storm out on him in panic, so...maybe he really did mean it that way? He didn't call attention to it, though, and simply shook his head before stubbing out his cigarette and finally turning back to the prep counter and the stove, checking the timer on the oven to see if the bread was done yet. No sooner had Zoro looked into his cup to remind himself that his half-finished coffee had gone cold and the cook was there to freshen it up, saying nothing. The swordsman glanced up quickly and managed to catch his eye briefly before he turned away to his work, leaving the coffee pot on the counter. The silence was actually rather nice, they didn't need so many words to communicate most days. Zoro lowered his eyes and accepted it – all of it – with a sip of his fresh coffee. He would remain hanging out there in the peaceful kitchen until dinner, until the noise of their captain officially returned the ship's routine to normal. Zoro was ready for it, then, and let the rest just sort of melt away. He didn't forget, though. He held the new knowledge close to him, guarding it jealously for now. Whether or not either of them would take another step to act on it, only time would tell.


End file.
